You're Being Followed
by Chocolate2011
Summary: Someone is trying to utilize Sherlock's services. In his absence, they try to hire John instead. But John's not having any of it. Post-Series 2.


Your being followed.

~ Mycroft.

No kidding. And I thought my goosebumps were a sign that my body had gone all confused about the weather. I've just left work and am making my way home to change. It's Friday evening so pedestrian population is minimal and peak hour traffic is non-existent because they're all inside (at the pubs). It's hard to not know that you're being followed when there's only about three people on your side of the street.

The man steps out from one of the shops. He's wearing an overcoat (even though it's the middle of summer) and a top hat; and he's deliberately grown a mustache (who wears mustaches these days?).

"You're the blogger." He says as he intercepts me. Only, he's not speaking in English.

I'm already running late for a date with Mary so I ignore him. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You know more than you're letting on." He replies, this time in perfect English. "If you really didn't understand you would have said _what?_ or _huh?_ or even _Can you say that in English?_"

"So I speak French." I shrug. "Big deal."

"You are hard to find these days." He says conversationally.

"I wasn't aware that we'd met." I did not want to engage in a conversation.

"Don't be modest." He laughs. "Most of the world knows you even if they haven't met you in person."

I'd guessed that might have been what attracted him to me. These days, my blog produces two types of fans: the ultra rationalists who want to discredit it because they think Sherlock Holmes is a hoax and the maniacal superpowers who have some importance in society and want to exploit what Sherlock had to offer.

"So people have heard of me." I shrug. "That's nice."

"You know, I never expected that from you." He shakes his head in mock-disapproval. "Your friend, we are told, delivers very biting remarks but you have the reputation of a gentleman."

"I'm a soldier." I almost laugh out loud at being called that. "How many soldiers have you met who can be described as gentlemen?"

"Were a soldier." He corrects me.

"Doesn't stop." I reply. It's true. Once you've been there, it never leaves you.

He considered me for a moment, then offered his judgement. "Then you have all the qualities that my employer needs."

"I'm already employed." I try to end the conversation

"Were." He corrects me again.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, not liking the threat of trouble that one little word could have.

"You were employed." He completed his statement. "As of, oh about five minutes ago, you have officially been fired from the surgery."

I try to shrug it off. "You're bluffing."

"I am." He replied with a confirmation that was more menacing than if he had challenged my statement.

"Look, I might have been his friend but I'm not him." I shake my head. "I'm not Sherlock."

"You weren't just friends." He dismisses my statement. "You were colleagues."

"Well, I'm not anymore. So I can't help you." I try to walk away.

"But I can help you." He replies.

"I doubt it." I say.

As I turn away though, he takes his stupid disguise off and my head feels like it's going to explode.

"Wait. This is some sort of a sick joke." I breathe out heavily, not willing to believe my eyes.

"No I'm afraid it's all true. Mycroft wasn't joking about you being followed – that wasn't me. You are in the process of being fired and they are going to try to repossess the flat." Sherlock replies very seriously.

"Why?" I ask him aghast. He might have faked his own death to benefit a case but it doesn't make sense for him to fake my demise as well.

"I haven't got a clue." He shakes his head. "But I'm going to find out."

He wasn't actually wearing a disguise. He did stick on a hat and a mustache but that was about it. And his voice – it wasn't actually so different from the way that it normally was except that it was softer; less intent. Whatever had happened during his "being dead" had changed his demeanour slightly. But I think the biggest reason that I didn't pick him out any earlier was because I was convinced that he really was dead and I had stopped believing that he would ever come back.


End file.
